He who fears not, is to be feared.

Genius is the gold in the mine, talent is the miner who works and brings it out.

Tears may be dried up, but the heart - never.

We have a reading, a talking, and a writing public. When shall we have a thinking?

When we find that we are not liked, we assert that we are not understood; when probably the dislike we have excited proceeds from our being too fully comprehended.

Wit lives in the present, but genius survives the future.

Sure there's different roads from this to Dungarvan* - some thinks one road pleasanter, and some think another; wouldn't it be mighty foolish to quarrel for this? - and sure isn't it twice worse to thry to interfere with people for choosing the road they like best to heaven?